


Prologue

by Adge



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 19:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20440958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adge/pseuds/Adge





	Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stand Still, Stay Silent](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/514028) by Minna Sundberg. 

# Year 90 – Prologue

Great Reykjavik ruler of Iceland,  
Safe in its ocean isolation,  
To the Gods returned. The tide seemed good  
To reopen links to the living folk,  
Rare survivors of the rash sickness,  
In Denmark's isle, in the deepset fjords  
Of fierce Norway, in the firwood cloak  
Of dern Sweden, in Suomi’s wild  
Lake-maze fastnesses. So few survive,  
So much is lost; so little is held  
Of the ancient lands, of lore, of folk,  
Though rumours echo of realms forsaken.  
But in Reykjavik, riched by earth-might  
By sea warded, saved by the Gods  
From the rash sickness, civilisation  
Is still preserved in the city's streets.  
To official ears speak four colleagues,  
Folk with purpose, confederate wights,  
Proposing to send a party resourced,  
Planned and chosen to explore the halls  
Of the silent lands, the secrets lost,  
The craft-hoards kept from necrotic rage.  
The king-folk gives for the federates’ scheme  
Gold insufficient for the full design –  
Or the sociate folk themselves confront  
Terror-haunting fiends, Tuoni’s doorwards,  
The troll-shent souls in the Silent Lands;  
In person to cross the path of the Swan.  
But the group’s preference is for proxy risk.  
Flinching from dole in their flesh-clothing,  
The four involved, the Västerströms  
Siv and Torbjörn, savant spouses  
With straitened purse; strategic skald  
Taru Hollola; time-spent General  
Trond Andersen the tricky old fox,  
Make do and mend with the money given.  
The store-needs trim, the staff downcount,  
Till nothing is left that need will demand,  
Till they see clear their silver runs  
Only to fools, unfettled, untried;  
To the weary trapped by wanhope bleak,  
By drear boredom, by dreadful peers,  
By stupid dreams; to stark idiots  
Wiseless enough to be willing to risk  
A hopeless throw. A happy band  
To set together in the Silent World.


End file.
